The Daisy Club (18 page)

‘Let's go for a drive,' she said, suddenly getting up from their table, and snatching her evening bag.

David followed her, half-pleased, and half-puzzled at their sudden exit.

‘You drive!' She threw her keys at him, and he caught them, and they drove off.

‘Where to, Miss Hambleton?' he asked, still feeling puzzled, as they motored.

‘Anywhere, anywhere you choose,' she told him.

‘Anywhere being?'

‘Out of town, Richmond Hill, perhaps, to watch the dawn come up? Just drive out of town.'

Laura stared ahead of her, trying not to think of what she had just witnessed in The Four Hundred, and yet knowing all too well that in a few hours she would be forced to do so.

‘You might have told me, Father. I mean, I am your daughter.'

Arthur was drunk. He had actually arrived at luncheon well over the eight – he liked to call it ‘well over the nine' – and had become progressively ever more drunk, to his own satisfaction, and his daughter's distress.

‘I meant to, Laura darling, I did really, but you know how it is. Dora put it all together so quickly I hardly had time to think, let alone think about telling
you
, sweetie, truly. And anyway you had gone off and joined the army, so it seemed like a good idea just to get on with it, and then settle everything later.'

‘I have not joined the army, Father, I have joined the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry.'

‘That's what I mean. You were so busy climbing into uniform I had no idea where to find you, Laura. What with that and leaving so early for your work with the WVS, or whatever it calls itself. How could I find you? In fact I couldn't. And you know, Dora has been a widow for so long, she wanted to get everything over with as quickly as possible, so it was off to the registry office, and then on to dinner and The Four Hundred.'

‘Yes, I saw you there, Father, the other night.' Laura stared at him. ‘I saw you, but I didn't know who you were with. It could have been anyone, although she was very beautiful, so it was obviously not just anyone, but someone, most particularly since you seemed to have gone and married her.'

‘Oh, so you did see me with Dora?' Her father looked rather satisfied by that, a little bit of the peacock showing despite the amount he had drunk. ‘She is very beautiful, I must admit, very beautiful – and rich, I am happy to say, very rich.'

‘You do realise that now you are married once more, you will have to behave yourself, don't you, Father?'

Arthur stared at Laura.

‘Oh, I doubt that, darling, after all, I never did before!'

He laughed heartily at his own joke, and as he did Laura found it was her turn to stare at him.

‘How did Mama ever put up with you, Father?' she asked him slowly. ‘Or perhaps
why
did she ever put up with you? You're really a rogue, aren't you, Father?'

‘I suppose she must have loved me, sweetie. Women do find me irresistible, you know. Now, ducks, do please be good enough to wish me luck. I am off on honeymoon this afternoon, so let's at least you and I drink to Father's long and happy new marriage, shall we?' He turned to the waiter. ‘More champagne, please.'

Laura stood up.

‘I have to go, Father. I'm meeting someone. And if you're going on honeymoon, you had better go off and meet your new wife, hadn't you?'

‘Dora's waiting for me at Claridges, where she is living at the moment. We're going to pop off on honeymoon, have some fun.'

‘I wish you every happiness, Father, and Dora, too, whoever she is. I wish you every happiness you can snatch before our world comes to an end, which it assuredly will, quite soon.'

Laura hurried out into the street, feeling wretched. Bad enough that he had married without telling her, that she had a stepmother she had never met, but the fact that he had had to get drunk to tell her, for some reason she could not name, seemed to make it all far, far worse.

And then she saw David, and hurried forward. He had managed to make it to London for a few hours. They would be together for a short time. Maybe they would even marry?

She stopped.

She was not yet twenty-one. She couldn't marry David without her father's consent, and she knew he would never give it, not in a million years. He would see David as being from a different class because he had not been to Eton like Arthur. David would not be good enough to be Arthur Hambleton's son-in-law. How ironic that Arthur could marry whoever he wanted, caring nothing about his daughter's feelings, and she couldn't move an inch without his say-so.

‘Come back to the house,' she said suddenly to David. ‘Father's going off on honeymoon, the house will be empty of everyone. Not even the maids will be about, only the caretaker in the basement, and we needn't worry about him.'

She caught his hand and they both started to run. It was a wonderful moment, and one that neither of them would ever forget. Somehow it seemed to Laura that they were running away from everything that had hurt her, and that she need not mind any more about Arthur or his new wife, or the whole of the world being about to enter into some new and terrible conflict. As for David, he felt he was running towards a temporary respite, a moment of hoped-for, longed-for union, of happiness held for a second and then released, his hands freed once more to go round the controls of his fighter plane.

Chapter Six

Daisy could hardly believe the sudden rush of relief she felt on hearing Chamberlain's broadcast, as in sombre tones he declared that Britain was at war with Germany. The euphoria she felt – that at last something, rather than nothing, was happening, that the dreadful suspense was over – was swiftly followed by guilt as she saw Jessica's ashen face turn away from the wireless. In that split second Daisy realised that despite everything that the older generation had said, despite the planning, and the plotting, despite the lists and the stores, they had all still clung to a tiny thread of hope; hoping, always hoping, that something would happen, that a solution could be found, that war would be put off in favour of a less terrible alternative, that a nation which had already devastated Europe could be stopped from doing it again.

‘Of course nothing could be done once Germany made a pact with Russia,' Branscombe said, standing by the back door to the kitchens, puffing on a cheap cigar. ‘Nothing at all. And so I said to Miss Jessica – and Miss Blossom, when she was back on the weekend. Although she never thought there would be any other outcome, no more than Miss Jessica, not really. And when you think about it, Miss Blossom has been busy in the factory now for longer than we care to think about, poor soul.'

Daisy passed Branscombe, quickly making her way to the Daisy Club above the stables, a home from home indeed, still filled with jolly things begged and borrowed from the Hall.

The last weeks had been spent notching up her flying hours, and attending flying school – which was brief and to the point – while also helping Miss Valentyne. She had done all that she could to pretend that she was not feeling horribly frustrated, while at the same time knowing that until someone, somewhere, saw the sense of using girls like herself to do what they could do just as well as the men – flying aeroplanes – they might well lose the war before it had even begun . . .

At least now, though, they had the off.

Daisy paused, half-remembering Chamberlain's words.

‘
For it is evil things we shall be fighting against, brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression . . .
'

Yes, they would be fighting against all that, and Daisy would be in the forefront of the fighting. She was sure of it. She would never give up until she had become part of the fighting force, doing what she was now quite sure that she was good at: namely, flying aeroplanes.

At long last a letter came from Gervaise, written hastily, as his letters always were, but signed off with his usual caricature.

Now you are eighteen and you have a private pilot's licence and the statutory hours logged, all you have to do is to prove fitness, and pass a couple of tests. So go to it, my goddaughter. They need everyone they can get to fly the aircraft from the factories to the airstrips, so don't take ‘no' for an answer. Turn up here and tell them I sent you, much good it will do you, I daresay –
[He had scribbled the appropriate address.]
And good luck. My friend Gerard d'Erlanger has been banging on about the need for amateur pilots, women too, to be allowed to duty fly from factory to airstrip for these past God knows how many years. No call-up papers needed, you will be glad to hear.

Daisy needed no further encouragement.

‘Right, Miss Beresford,' the flying instructor called up to her. ‘You can start. Remember,' he went on, raising his voice and speaking with over-clear enunciation, as if to a child, ‘you have to climb to two thousand feet and—'

But the rest of his words were drowned as the aeroplane took off in a high wind, and Daisy resigned herself to her task, which was landing within a hundred or so feet of the object that the training officer had chosen. Up, up, up she went, and it was exhilarating, no doubt of that. The only trouble was, in his wisdom, and obviously all-too flustered by having to deal with a
girl
, the instructor had failed to tell her what the object might be, and she, arriving late and in a fluster to get on with the job, had forgotten to ask.

Up she climbed in the Tiger Moth, and off they went, circling with ease the airstrip attached to the motor-racing circuit, Daisy feeling exultant, free, liberated at last, as she did so. She was on her way, up into the sky, two thousand feet above the countryside, two thousand feet away from the chains that had bound her to the rest of the world. Now all she had to do was land somewhere vaguely near where she was meant to.

Jessica held open the door for Daisy, and Daisy strode past her, finally collapsing at the bottom of the hall stairs.

‘You look a bit wind-blown, Daisy.'

‘Phew!'

After a short pause Daisy looked up at a startled Jessica, and started to laugh, before reaching into her top pocket and lighting a cigarette.

‘Do you mind if I swear?'

Jessica took her glasses off the top of her head, and stared at Daisy.

‘Do you have to?'

‘Well, yes.'

‘Very well, but allow me to cover my ears, would you?'

‘No, it's all right, no need. I'm beginning to see the funny side.'

‘The funny side of . . . ?'

Daisy stood up, and leaning against the newel post she laughed and laughed. It was a full minute before she could speak, or Jessica could make much sense of what she was attempting to tell her.

‘I went for my test, as you know, and I climbed to the required two thousand feet, and having climbed up there I was then required to land within a hundred and fifty feet – or was it yards? To tell you the truth I couldn't have cared less by then. At any rate, pretty close to an object on the ground, thus proving accuracy of plane and pilot. Good old Tiger Moth, she did as she was told, despite the wind, and up we were, at just the right height, everything as it should be, only trouble was that my instructor had somehow failed to say, or else I had forgotten to ask – either way I realised that I had no idea what the object might be next to which I was supposed to be landing.' She swallowed the laughter that welled up once again at the memory of the flying instructor's face. ‘So I thought the object must be him, and nearly finished by landing in his lap!'

‘And?'

‘He wasn't very pleased, you may be sure.' Daisy wiped her eyes. ‘But there was not much he could do, really. At any rate, despite all that, to my amazement, he passed me, if only to get me off his patch.' She paused, finally recovering. ‘Now all I have to do are half a dozen figures of eight at six hundred feet. At least I think it's six hundred feet—'

‘Sounds rather low, dear,' Jessica said, turning away, glad only that Daisy was safe, at any rate for that evening.

‘Oh it is low, and fairly dangerous, but great fun. I love doing figures of eight.'

‘All well and good then, time for supper,' Jessica called back, trying not to seem at all interested.

Daisy followed her downstairs to the basement, where they now ate in what had been, long ago, the servants' hall.

‘Do you want to come and see me do my figures of eight, Miss Valentyne?'

‘No, Daisy dear, I would really rather not, if you don't mind.'

Daisy looked so disappointed that Jessica sighed, realising suddenly that the time had come to tell this wonderfully dizzy girl what someone should have told her years ago, but then, seeing her face – so eager, so full of life – she couldn't bring herself to do it. Besides, she had to ask herself, what good would it do? And more than that it might do harm, and also it might stop her ever flying again, and, after all, they were going to need good pilots now.

Along with just about everyone else Freddie had done a first-aid course, and then put in to become a Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse, which was only natural since both the Hall and the Court had long-time voluntary connections, reaching back to the Great War, with the VAD. So into that she went, only to decide after three months that if she was going to nurse, she must do it properly.

‘Very sensible,' Jessica told her, not looking up from her list of evacuees, most of whom seemed, for some reason, to be destined to be put up at the Court. ‘If you want to do something you have to do it properly, perfectly understandable. So where were you thinking of heading?'

‘Nursing school.'

Jessica looked up at that.